


The Courage To Fall

by up_the_tower_1001



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Angst, Feels, Fluff and Angst, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Misunderstandings, Pining, Sexual Content, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-23
Updated: 2019-02-23
Packaged: 2019-11-04 02:58:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17890226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/up_the_tower_1001/pseuds/up_the_tower_1001
Summary: Was he panicking? He must be. Interesting. Arthur was known for keeping his cool under stressful situations. Now he was on hot concrete feeling like he was being smothered.His last thought before Eames shot him was how embarrassing.





	The Courage To Fall

    Of course the girl was beautiful. Her yellow hair fell in gentle waves down her back and her nose curved up in an impish slope with freckles dancing along the bridge. Arthur took notice of the hideous Christmas sweater that the girl managed to make look cute.

    “Like it?” she asked and did a little spin. Her lips quirked up in a smirk. He spared Eames only an unimpressed glance and strolled right past him, inspecting their surroundings. There was a faint drizzle and yet the sun was shining almost painfully bright. They were in a dream, but why? Think Arthur, where are you? How did you get here?

    A light hand on his shoulder broke Arthur out of his focus. He turned to find another of Eames’ characters. This time he was a tall man, but boyish in looks. His hair was blond and wild, his face narrow and his eyes crinkled. “Perhaps this is more your fancy?” He chuckled. “I feel like I’m in a boy band.”

    Arthur opened his mouth to snap back at Eames to stop fucking around, but his words wouldn’t come. His voice caught in his throat and he frowned. Small choking sounds escaped, but that was it. He looked up to find Eames no longer in disguise. Something was wrong. Think, Arthur, think damn it! The sky was too blue and the rain had stopped. Why was it so hot and what was Emeas saying? He closed his eyes and tried to painfully draw in a breath, but it was like there was no more air outside to breathe. His lungs struggled to expand and he fell to his knees. _Was he panicking? He must be. Interesting_. Arthur was known for keeping his cool under stressful situations. Now he was on hot concrete feeling like he was being smothered.

    His last thought before Eames shot him was _how embarrassing_.

    The moment Arthur woke up, he was on the ground while his body tried to simultaneously vomit and draw in air to his starving lungs. He opted for breathing first. His throat felt raw and he inhaled shuttering gasps in between ragged coughing.

    “Hey there Arthur. That’s it, just breath, love. Just breathe.” But Arthur didn’t want the comfort of Eames and he suddenly felt furious at himself for letting things get like this. He was so much better than dry heaving on the filthy warehouse floor.

    He gasped “Get off me,” at Eames, and it came out rough and louder than it should’ve. Eames instantly lifted his hand that was rubbing small circles on his back.

    Then he threw up on the ground that was blurry through tears caused by the acidic burn in his nose. Of course, he’d been through much worse, but he didn’t exactly enjoy the strain. The liquid was light green and smelled rancid, but there was no blood. Arthur sighed in relief. Everything fucked up was only in his head, not his body. He could deal with that. Had been for years.

    “What the fuck was in that?” snarled Eames behind him. He didn’t bother to look up, but the pounding behind his left eye did nothing to stop his irrational anger. He didn’t need Eames of all people defending him. He would only owe him later.

    “Nothing! It was the usual. What the hell happened?” A panicked Yusuf stood up from his chair and the sharp metal on concrete tore through Arthur’s ripped through Arthur’s head like a machete. He couldn’t hold back a small groan, but neither men seemed to notice.

    “Then enlighten me why Arthur is on the ground puking his fuckin’ guts out. Please, Yusuf, and make it quick.”

    “I swear-”

    “Shut up,” Arthur growled. It was quiet but intense and it worked like a charm. The pounding got worse. “Water.” His throat was sandpaper and his mouth tasted like old sausage and vinegar.

    “Right,” said Yusuf, as if he’d simply been momentarily distracted and was reminded of his actual mission. He heard the man scuttle off into an adjacent kitchen.

    “Arthur, are you alright?” Eames asked, softly.

    “Peachy, Eames, thanks for asking.” He slowly turned his body away from the puddle of vomit and sat facing the Brit. He was pale and wide-eyed. Arthur closed his own eyes.

    They were quiet for a moment as Arthur caught his breath and regained his composure. As soon as Yusuf was back, he started listing off symptoms. “Dry mouth, awful headache, possibly an oncoming migraine. Momentary hearing loss, disorientation even after awakening.” He reached into his pocket and smoothed his thumb over the red die. He didn’t pull it out though. He knew he wasn’t dreaming.

    “Here,” said Yusuf, offering an opened water bottle. Arthur swished the first mouthful around and spat it out, trying to rid himself of the taste. He drained the rest.

    “And now you feel….what?” Yusuf asked carefully. Arthur considered the question, radically different from when Eames asked.

    “Better. More grounded,” he decided. “My head still hurts but….no other physical ailments.”

    “And mental?” Eames asked. Arthur looked up at him. His face was serious. Arthur scowled, almost rather having it be a jibe than a concern. He shoved himself off the ground rather than answering.

    “What did you give me, Yusuf? There was no way that was the normal mix.”

    “Same batch as we used yesterday. I can check to see if it was tampered with, but that’s doubtful because Eames would have felt the effects as well.

    Arthur glanced up at Eames who was glaring at the ground, thick arms crossed over a wide chest. Arthur felt a pang of guilt for shooting Eames down. He turned his attention back to Yusuf. “What about the others?”

    “Nothing. Everything has been normal. Ari and Dom haven’t had any abnormal effects. It’s just been you.”

    Arthur frowned. The hair on the back of his neck rose slightly. He didn’t like how he was the only one to have a freak out under the usual serum and usual work conditions. _As if he were singled out somehow._ “How long was I under?”

    Yusuf checked the timer. “Not sure. I didn’t have a chance to stop time, but if I had to guess, I’d probably say about a minute-twenty.”

    Eames rubbed the bridge of his nose, eyes closed, brow furrowed. “Do you feel any different, Eames?”

    He looked up to meet Arthur’s gaze. “A bit of a headache, but that’s no different from any other day I’m in the same room as you, dear.”

    Rather than snapping back, Arthur let out a giggle. Eames jaw went slack, and the sight threw Arthur into a fit of hysteria. He laughed so hard that he had to drop to one knee and clutch his side. It was like when he smoked for his first time, doing way too much because his friends thought it would be funny if he got super high. He grabbed fistfuls of his slicked-back hair, trying to get his body to corporate.

    Then he wasn’t laughing anymore and simply struggling to breathe.

    “Do something!” cried Eames. They were far away. Arthur felt his lungs contract rather than expand. He was tearing them away from his ribcage. He could feel every fiber rip as his lungs folded in on themselves. He tried to scream, but his vocal cords were paralyzed. He was going to die.

    _He was going to die._

   

    “I thought he was going to die, Dom. You should’ve seen him. It was….”

    “It’s okay. He’s fine now.”

    Their voices were quiet, but Arthur knew they were talking about him. The moment he regained consciousness, he knew what was going on. He must have seen sedated. He was laying down. His headache was gone but his tongue felt like it was glued to the top of his mouth and his eyes were too heavy to open. He opted for grunting to inform them of his presence.

    Their voiced quieted. Slowly he peeled opened his eyes. Dom was sitting next to him. They were in a bedroom he’d never seen before.

    “Hey, Arthur.” Dom’s voice was low and gentle. His eyelids slipped back closed and he drifted away to darkness.

   

    When he woke up again, his eyes didn’t have as much trouble focusing and his body felt like more his own. This time he was alone and the room was dark. He had to piss.

    He tossed off the sheets and glanced down at himself. His shirt and jacket had been removed and folded neatly on the bedside desk leaving him bare-chested. His pants and socks remained. He didn’t see his shoes.

    After getting dressed he opened the door to reveal a small apartment. He followed the sound of running water down a carpeted hall into a kitchen. There, Eames stood with his back facing away from Arthur, filling up a pot.

    Arthur was at….Eames hotel? No, that made no sense. He reached out into his pocket and pulled out his totem.

    “Arthur?”

    He crouched in the middle of the hall and tossed it. It came up as one. He tossed it again, and again it came up with one dot. Just for good measure, he repeated it one more time. He wasn’t dreaming.

    “Ummm, I’m making some pasta if you want any?” He looked back up, still crouching, to see Eames scratching his head awkwardly. Arthur’s gut clenched. He stood up, thankful that he had bothered to put a shirt on.

    “Where is your toilet?”

    “Oh. Er, to the right back the way you came.”

    He pissed and rinsed his hands with orange-scented bar soap. In his reflection, his pupils were normally dilated and his hair was in loose, greasy curls. He was a mess, looking younger and softer than he preferred to be around his work colleges. Around anyone, really. But he was no longer compromised.

    When he entered the kitchen again, Eames was putting the lid on the pot. He briefly glances around the room and saw his shoes sitting by the door. He padded over to them.

    “Arthur, dear, I’m afraid you’re going to have to stay for dinner. My offering was simply common courtesy.” He gave a toothy grin.

    Arthur raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “And what’s stopping me from leaving?” He gave Eames an unimpressed once-over. “You?”

    “Hmmm, yes, I suppose you technically could leave, but Yusuf is currently checking out the mix, and he made it quite clear that the side effects of whatever had you in a fit were quite unpredictable. For all he knows, you might pass out the moment you step past the doormat.” He shrugged, feigned uninterest, and turned back to the sauce.

    Arthur clenched his right hand, then relaxed it consciously. Eames could be bluffing, but why would be? Surely he wanted Arthur out of his hair just as much as Arthur wanted to be out of it. No, Eames had no reason to be lying, and leaving wasn’t worth the risk of passing out or having another panic attack in public. That would mean going to the hospital and then that meant the cops involved. Or there might be no one, and that could end up significantly worse.

    Still, the thought of eating a home-cooked dinner with Eames made his heart beat just a little bit faster and old feelings trickle out of the metaphorical safe he kept them in. He felt his lips tighten in annoyance because of course Eames still managed to make him feel like a man barely out of his teens. Made him feel like a fool. He couldn’t stay here. But he couldn’t leave.

    He pulled in a slow breath. _Your grown, Arthur. Get a hold of yourself, for God’s sake._ “Yes, well. I suppose I’m a bit peckish.”

    Eames didn’t spare him a glance. He snorted and took out 2 forks and 2 knives. “Be a dear and set the table them?”

   

    The pasta was….good. Not great, but not bad at all. The sauce was runny, but the noodles were cooked to perfection.

    They didn’t talk much. Arthur pointedly shot down everything Eames brought up, and it didn’t take long for Eames to get sick of his shit. Arthur was acting like a child, he knew. But it was better than treating it like some sort of date because how pathetic would that be?

    It got boring after a while, though, and Arthur, usually so unfazed with long stretches of silence, began to grow uncomfortable. “It’s good,” he announced. Eames looked up, surprised, for just a heartbeat and then….nothing. He gave an uncommitted nod.

    “Good.”

    “How long do I have to stay, exactly?”

    “Yusuf said about an hour after you eat should be good.”

    Arthur got another serving.

    “Nice place,” he tried again.

    Eames let out a low sigh. “So you’re done with sulking?”

    “.....yes.”

    “Delightful. Because it’s not like I could’ve just dumped you onto Dom and forget about the whole thing with a couple of drinks and a couple of Illinois babes.”

    Arthur swallowed and picked at his napkin. He felt the heat creep up his neck and he prayed that Eames didn’t notice. “Yes...well. Thank you.”

    There wasn’t much that Eames missed, though. He was a little like Arthur in that aspect, but instead of searching through old records and random notes, Eames could just see. He carried the uncanny ability to read into someone’s thoughts through their body language, and it put Arthur on edge. He was a private person to put it mildly and the idea that Eames was able to read him when no one else could made him even more conscious of his facial expressions. Somethings, though, were involuntary. A blush, for example. And Eames soaked it all up.

    Eames’ eyes carefully searched his face for a half-second before leaning back in his chair and smiled in some infuriating and self-satisfied was that made Arthur want to murder him. “Not a problem, love. I have to say, you gave me quite a scare. To think you were so close to soiling that suit of yours.” He winked, and who the fuck winks anymore? “ That’s how I knew things were bad.”

    Arthur narrowed his eyes. He was so bad at playing these games, something Eames excelled at, but somehow he was always drawn into them, willing or not. “Well thank you for the concern. I do appreciate how you were so quick to make sure I was okay. So sweet, Eames. I could tell you were worried.”

    “Oh yeah, I guess I did come to your rescue back there, didn’t I?” He blinked innocently at Arthur, and later, he could have to admit that he knew exactly what to say to push all his buttons. He felt his lip twitch, and Eames’ ever-seeing eyes caught it.

    “Did you? I can’t seem to recall.”

    “Oh, Arthur, you were terribly confused in the dream. I said, ‘Arthur, are you feeling alright?’, and you looked at me with those big doe eyes of your and you said, ‘Eames, my prince, my knight, my sun, please help me!’. And so naturally, I knew exactly what I had to do. With the quick thinking of-”

    “You shot me.”

    Eames barked out a laugh, and it was so unexpected that it made Arthur flinch, his fingers instinctively twitch for his hip where his gun should’ve been resting.

    “That I did. Sorry about that. Necessary evil.” He waved it away. “Now where was I?” But the crinkle in his eyes was still there and the corners of his lips pulled up in amusement, and suddenly Arthur had to look away. His heart fluttered in his chest and he almost gagged at the thought. His stomach rolled as he replayed the sweet crackle of Eames’ laugh, like a brown sugar coating on a desert.

    “I do wonder what happened, though,” he wondered quietly.

    Eames cleared his throat. “Me too. It really was, erm, unnerving. Thought you’d finally snapped, and I was stuck in your head for all eternity.”

    Arthur hummed. “Figured it all ended up fine. After all, I am the protagonist of this story.”

    “And you are known for being a bit of a drama queen.” Arthur’s eyes snapped back to big brown eyes, and he smiled despite himself.

    “I do tend to overdo things, don’t I. You don’t think people think I’m faking it, do you?”

    Eames cringed. “I hate to admit it, but I have been starting to suspect it.” He ran a hand through clipped chestnut hair and his t-shirt stretched over his chest.

    “Well, I suppose that’s the end of me then. My reputation is ruined.”

    “Come on, Arthur. You can’t just give up. I’m sure that with enough work, you could work your way back up. Colder and more pretentious than ever. A real class A twat.”

    Arthur already had his mouth opened to retort, but something about that bit threw him off. It sounded more aggressive than anything they’d said all night. More like their sharp snips at works when things weren’t going right. A stab of frustration rather than easy flowing teases. It made Arthur close his mouth. His smile was gone, good mood vanished.

    It was a good thing, really. Reminded him that they weren’t casual pals having a beer together. They worked together in a highly personal work environment. No need to get any more buddy-buddy than usual.

    “Right.” He wiped his mouth and stood, plate and silverware in hand.

    “Wait, Arthur, I didn’t mean it like that.” He frowned.Why shouldn’t he mean it exactly as he said it? Arthur _was_ a grade A dick. But he was the best there was, so he shouldn’t care. Eames knew exactly who he was without really knowing anything about him. The man should know better.

    He shrugged. “It’s alright. You’re right. With work and your help, I’m sure that I’ll be right back to good ol’ Arthur by tomorrow.” Eames said nothing to that. He chewed on his lip looking like a child. It was time for Arthur to go. “Thank you for dinner. I’ve got some work to do, though, and Yusuf is always over cautionary. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

    “Er, yeah. Yeah, I’ll see you.”

   

The second Arthur heard his phone blaring, he knew something was wrong. Yusuf wouldn’t be calling him unless he was really needed, and honestly, it didn’t surprise Arthur if everything went to shit the one day that he was given orders to sleep in. He answered it on the second ring.

    “Arthur, we need you to get down here. There is a bit of a problem.” It was Yusuf.

    “Already on my way. What’s wrong?”

    “I’ll explain everything when you get here.”

    He didn’t run, per se, but he was panting by the time he reached the warehouse, busting through the doors. Yusuf and Ari were sitting by Eames who was lying in a lawn chair. Even from across the room he could tell that Eames wasn’t looking good. He was under.

    “Arthur.” Ari looked absolutely panicked. But then, she was new to the business. It could just be Yusuf over-reacting and in turn, freaking out the newbie.

    Still….he crossed over to them in long strides. Eames was sweating and pale. He tossed his head weakly from side to side as Arthur approached. “What’s wrong with him?”

    Ari gave a murderous glance towards Yusef who looked at Eames, avoiding eye contact. “Ask him!” She was standing now, her anger probably returning from an explosion from before Arthur reached them.

    “I have been working on a, erm, a small project. A new formula. On the side. It wasn’t for the job. And I had a suspicion when you, erm, had that little episode, but, well.” He rubbed the back of his neck, looking slightly sweaty himself. “So I checked the mix and everything seemed to be okay, so I-”

    “This psychopath is working on some sort of nightmare serum!” shrieked Ariadne. Yusuf winced and Eames groaned pitifully.

    A nightmare serum? Jesus. And from the look of it, it was a success. Arthur frowned. “Pull him out then.” He made a reach for the stereo to start the kick when Ari practically dove into him.

    “No!!” Arthur jumped back in surprise. She gave him a wild look of fear.

    “That’s the problem,” explained Yusuf. “I’m not exactly sure what will happen if we pull him. It’s like waking up a sleepwalker, but worse. It could potentially scramble his brains for an undetermined amount of time.

    Arthur’s throat tightened. “What?” he hissed. How could Yusuf be so careless? He felt another headache coming on and he heard Ari give a little sob from behind him. He was working with children. If it were anyone else he would’ve told them to get their shit together because they don’t have the time to panic. But instead, he let out a long sigh and ‘shhhh-ed’ her. “A, you need to calm down, okay?” She looked up at him with big, brown, watery eyes. Then to Yusuf, “what do we need to do?”

    Yusuf set his jaw and Ari sniffled. “I’ve pulled the serum, but he needs to wake up from the inside. As if it were natural.” He took a steadying breath. “We need someone to go under with him. To wake him up.”

    Arthur blinked Someone to go under. Go under into Eames’ vulnerable mind to find him and coax him out. One look at Ari told him it had to be him. He was their only option. And god he really didn’t want to. A nightmare was something personal. It was Eames’ fears and he wouldn’t be able to control his surroundings.

    But fuck, it was the only way. And if it were Arthur in that lawn chair, trapped in the darkness of his own mind, he would want Eames to be the one to go fish him out, even if he would never admit it.

    “How long had he been asleep?”

    “I’m not entirely sure. He was still awake when I got here, but I didn’t see him actually go under. He didn’t say anything all morning. It was weird. And then to just go under by himself, without telling me?”

    “Yes, I might have had something to do with that. But focus, please. How long?” He would think about Eames, silent and moody, another time.

    “Maybe about 8 minutes? And then as soon as I realized which serum he’d used, I called you and pulled the headphones off to avoid the, um, you know, the whole brain scramblin' thing.”

    “Speaking of which,” he said casually as he took off his jacket and pulled up another plastic chair, “how will I know that my brains will resist scrambling?”

    “You never got the full blown serum. Simply being in his dream will be unpleasant, but with the right formula, there isn’t any risk.”

    “Are you ready?” Ari asked. Her voice was steady even if her eyes betrayed her fear, but Arthur was still proud.

    “No time like the present.”   

    Arthur closed his eyes and felt the familiar prick of the needle against his skin. _I’m coming for you Eames, ready or not._

   

    Eames was, in fact, not ready at all.

    Arthur was in a small room. There was a lot of screaming. A lot of blood. The first thing he saw was Eames, but he was different. _Younger_ , his brain supplied. Eames lacked the usual stubble on his chin and neck, and his shoulders, while still broad, lacked the thickness of a man. His self-assured smirk was gone, replaced with a wide-eyed, blood splattered expression of red fury. The room was boiling and dark, yet Arthur could perfectly see the metallic gun in Eames’ left hand, pointed directly at him.

    Then, predictably, he was shot.

    While it’s a nice feeling to know one’s brain isn’t scrambled, or fried, or hard-boiled, it doesn’t make one warm and fuzzy to know that his friend, who didn’t even recognize him, was reliving his most traumatic moments.

    When Arthur opened his eyes, Ari frowned. “What’s wrong? It the mix not working?” he voice raising in pitch.

    “He shot me.”

    “What?”

    “He shot me. Put me under again.”   

    “But you were only asleep for a couple seconds.”

    “Seems Eames might be in more trouble than we thought.”

    Ari looked horrified, her eyes starting to water again. Luckily, Yusuf stepped in. “Right then, another go.” He turned a dial on the PASIV and Arthur closed his eyes again.

   

    “What are you doing here Arthur?” Eames’ voice was shaking. He was older again. They were in a church. The walls were white this time with beautiful stained-glass windows. They weren’t alone. In fact, the pews were filled with people, but they were all facing a minister while Eames and Arthur stood in the shadows by the door. “Arthur,” he repeated.

    “You are dreaming, Eames.” Not the most subtle way of going about things, but Arthur had always preferred the blunt approach. “I’ve been sent to wake you up.”

    “But Eames wasn’t listening. He was staring back at the casket at the front of the church. There was a woman there. She was older than them, but that’s about all Arthur could tell from this distance. “I shouldn’t have left,” Eames whispered thickly.

    Arthur placed a hand on Eames’ forearm. The man looked back at Arthur as if seeing him for the first time. “And I shouldn’t be seeing this. Eames, you need to come back, okay? You are in a dream. Check your totem. It’s the nightmare serum that’s making everything so confusing.”

    “A nightmare serum?” He shook his head. “It’s a memory, Arthur, I lived this nightmare.”

    Whatever Arthur was going to say got stuck in his throat. The reality of the dream shifted into a duality. He was looking at Eames, thick and breaded, but also a wiry boy in the previous dream, waiting for his mother to wake up. And Arthur really should not be seeing this. “Eames,” he tried again. “Yusuf was working on a bad mix, and you accidentally used it. You need to snap out of it.”

    “Arthur,” Eames said, finally with some recognition.

    “Check your totem, Eames.”

    “My totem.” He reached into his pocket and fumbled with some sort of doll for a moment before dropping it and grabbing his pocket chip. Carefully, he rubbed it between his forefinger and thumb. The chip gave way to another on hidden behind the first. “I’m dreaming,” he said more certainly. He pocketed the chip and looked back up. The dream stabilized, showing the Eames Arthur knew. “What’s happening.” There was an urgency to his voice. Perhaps he realized too that Arthur shouldn’t be there.

    “You were given some sort of nightmare serum. Or at least, that was what was in the PASIV when you hooked yourself up. There are dangers in kicking you awake, so you need to wake up from within the dream.”

    “From within the dream,” Eames repeated. He looked down to his hands. Arthur followed his eyes to a pistol gripped tightly between 5 white-knuckled digits. He held the gun up to Arthur, and Arthur took it. A small favor. It was always easier to be shot than to shoot yourself.

    It was sticky with blood. It was too dark to see if it was coming from Eames or not. He supposed it didn’t matter. He paused only for a second, looking into Eames’ large eyes and feeling that this was somehow different from any other time that he’d had to shoot Eames out of a dream. The man’s eyes, usually curved into a crescent moon, were now wide with fear. Wide with an ocean of emotion.

    He pulled the trigger. The gun made no sound. It was only the bullet tearing through bone and brain tissue.

****

    Arthur was slow to wake up. By the time he became aware again, Eames had his hands in fists shaking Yusuf by the collar. Arthur didn’t bother to try and stop him. The two had been working together for years, and Eames would get over it.

    Ari was by his side. “Are you alright?”

    Arthur sighed and pushed himself up. He’d been asked that question more times in the past 24 hours than in the past 3 years. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

    “Good. I was worried for a second. He woke up like he’d been electrocuted,” she smiled, gesturing at Eames who was cussing so violently that spit was flying everywhere. “You were a bit slower.”

    Arthur shrugged, unable to explain. It was true that Eames was having quite a different reaction to the serum that he did. He seemed fine, really. No vomiting. No panic. Just justifiable rage.

    Eames stopped yelling and closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose, an action that was deeply familiar. He patted Yusuf on the shoulder and then, all was forgiven. It was almost unfair, the ease in which Eams simply forgave. He supposed Yusuf made it easy, looking like he was going to shit his pants any moment.

    Still, it made Arthur jealous and itch to leave. To work, or do anything. To get those images of young Eames and old Eames alike out of his mind.

    He stood up steady on his feet. “Are we all good then? Because I have a bit of work to do that involves our actual project for once.”   

****

    Arthur was the last to leave, per usual. He had another headache but didn’t bother telling Yusuf. It was probably just from the stress of the last few days rather than anything chemical.

    It was a strange day. Everyone seemed to make themselves scarce. But things would be normal tomorrow. He would go home, have some hot tea, and fall asleep, skipping dinner just like he skipped breakfast this morning.

    Only, Eames was outside when he opened the door, leaning on a post under clouds that sprinkled down crystal drops. He was fiddling with his poker chip, but when Arthur came out, he looked up, putting the totem away.

    He was waiting.

    “Hey.”

    “Hello.” Arthur did his best to pretend like he didn’t notice what was going on. He stepped past the man with learned grace.

    “Arthur.”

    Arthur turned back toward the man, sighing inwardly. Truth be told, he had no idea what to expect. The fact that Eames had been waiting for him outside meant that it didn’t involve work, and anything not work related that involved Arthur and Eames tended to be unpredictable. Dangerous.

    “Thank you.” It was quick and Eames grimaced a little while he said it, shifting from one foot to the other.

    Arthur blinked. “What?”

    “I realized I never got to thank you for fishing me out of the dream this morning.” He chuckled sheepishly. “Too busy strangling Yusuf, I suppose. “

    Arthur felt himself flush under the stare of those blue eyes. “Yes, well, all in a day's work.”

    Eames grinned at this, white teeth flashing in the slim light. Arthur nodded, expecting that that was that. He moved to turn away again when Eames caught his elbow, holding him back.

    “Wait. I, uh….” Arthur looked down to the point of connection, and Eames let go. “I also wanted to apologize. Obviously shouldn’t have said….what I said.”

    The apology made Arthur’s chest hurt. This infuriating man had the audacity to apologize after he’d taken care of Arthur, making sure he was safe and well fed and rested. After cooking for him. Did he think that Arthur was so sore that he couldn’t handle a bit of criticism here and there? Christ, that was kitten licking compared to what his father would have said.

    How did a man like Eames even exist?

    Arthur shook his head. “I don’t pretend to know how people work. How men think and why they do the things they do. But you will always be an exceptional mystery to me, Mr. Eames.”

    Eames frowned in confusion, but Arthur turned, and this time, Eames didn’t stop him.

****

Arthur was shot about 7 months after the job with Eames. He was working on a small project involving family relationships rather than money. There was an old sick grandfather, behind the times, and three sisters who couldn’t stand each other. It should’ve been quick and easy. A little emotional manipulation here and there, a few well-placed tears and some gentle suggestions, and he would’ve been on his merry way.

    Not to mention the team was excellent. His architect was a Kenyan woman who was rival to if not better than Ari in natural talent, and with a few more years under her belt, she was impeccable. A real treat to work with, despite Arthurs initial doubts. He hadn’t been able to find much information when he first looked into her.

    A forger from Syria was an interesting mix. Like all forgers, it seemed like, she was quick-witted and easy going, making people feel comfortable in her presence. Gave the impression that she really did want to listen to your stories from work and that she really understood you. Saw all your small little ticks and appreciated every one of them. Add remarkably beautiful to the combination, and you had someone who would go far in the business, or wherever she decided to go.

    Arthur stayed away from her. She didn’t care for him much either, and so they worked together professionally and efficiently.

    A young man from the Americas was their extractor. Smart enough and flexible with his plans to make for a much easier man to work with than Dom, if lacking in personality. But then, who was Arthur to complain about that?

    Should’ve been easy. Things never are, though. They’d been surveyed and tracked. Someone might have tipped someone else off, from inside the group or outside, he wasn’t sure. Yet. They hadn’t even made it to the target when a group of armed men intercepted them. They scattered, splitting up in the huge city. As Arthur was racing down the alleys of Lisbon, he wondered if the rest would be okay. He wondered who he would have to kill and how long he would have to hide out for.

    Then a bullet tore through the meat of his thigh and he went down hard. People screamed, and whoever shot him must have realized he actually hit someone and panicked, thank god. Otherwise, Arthur would’ve been dead instead of a flesh wound and a slight concussion.

    The pain was incredible. He’d been shot before, and it always hurt like a bitch. He checked to see where the bullet hit and was relieved to find that it wasn’t in any major arteries. Instead, it nestled deep into the meat and muscle, away from his femur. He laid his head down and kept his eyes open, waiting for the ambulance to pump him full of painkillers.

    The hospital kept him there for 4 days. He had surgery and kept the bullet. Skin grafts were put over the wound. He was prescribed painkillers and given crutches and sent on his way. He tried to do some background research into the contracted daughter, but his head was blurry and slow, so he decided just to get the hell out of Europe and away from these fucking psychos.

    The trip was terrible and his legs swelled awfully on the plane, but then he was touching the landing strip in New York and driving into the country, back to his safe house, choosing to go off the meds for the car trip.

    By the time he reached the small house in Maine, his head was killing him and his leg felt like it was on fire. He hobbled out of his rental, thankful that at least it wasn’t winter. The ground was bare, spring rains and melting snow drowning out the early flowers.

    Finally, in the warmth and safety of his house, he allowed his mind to wander to Eames. He wondered if he would come. He must have heard the news by now. Things got around quickly. Unless he was in hiding, he would know. (And the last time Arthur checked, he wasn’t in hiding. In fact, he was living it up on the Gulf of Mexico with latin women and margaritas.)

    It wasn’t that Eames normally checked in on Arthur. In fact, he never had. But then, the last time Arthur got hurt like this, it had been when he was 20, and Eames was not in his life.

    Really, it was Arthur always checking in on Eames. Eames broke his ankle running away from a tough day at the card table? Arthur was there to bump into him at a coffee shop that week. Neither of them mentioned the giant white cast on his foot. Eames barely manages to get out of the way of a speeding Jeep only to fall down a set of stone stairs, getting some gnarly gashes on the way down? Arthur dropped by to make sure he was dressing his wounds correctly, and when he wasn’t, was there to fix him up.  Eames gets caught up in a huge brawl in the pits with 50 other giant, immoral men? Arthur is there to pick him up at the corner and race him away. At least that time he was already in town. Still.

    He wondered why Eames didn’t send him away. He was a grown man out of the armed forces. He could take care of himself, and Arthur playing the mother hen seemed so strange. But Arthur couldn’t stop, and Eames never told him to leave. In fact, the last time Arthur went to check in, getting an email from one of his many connections saying that Eames had several broken bones and took a rather nasty punch to the head, Eames hadn’t shown the least bit of surprise, even going so far as to tell him he was late.

    The man didn’t owe him anything. It wasn’t like that. He wasn’t expecting Eames to come at all. He only thought that, well, it might be nice. Really, anyone coming to check up on him would’ve been wonderful. He would’ve gladly taken even Dom’s company over the silence of the house and the pain in his leg. But for a week, there was nothing.

    Arthur was sipping his second cup of tea of the morning when he heard a car pull up. It could’ve been anyone, and Arthur was completely helpless. His gun was locked away in his bedroom all the way on the other side of the cabin and he was practically immobile.

    But then, it really could’ve only been Eames. Arthur was meticulous about covering up his tracks. He used an alias for every transaction and had several different hidey holes around the world. He could’ve been in 6 different locations, each equally as hard to find. But he’d mentioned to Eames in casual conversation that he had a nice place in Maine. Dropped small hints about where he could be found if he went off the map. Small things that would have gone unnoticed if Arthur wasn’t normally so paranoid and closed lipped about everything in his personal life. It was like he was making Eames his emergency contact. Eames noticed, but he never commented.

    So he said in his lounge chair while his front door was picked.

    He tried to think of something clever to say when Earmes finally got through the military grade lock. Something casual and smart ass. _Nice of you to drop by. Were you in the neighborhood? You brought bread, I hope. I’m running low. Otherwise, you can see yourself out_. But then Eames swung open the door, face red from the cold and hair longer than Arthur had ever seen it, making him look younger, and Arthur couldn’t really say anything at all.

    His stomach dropped at the sight of him. God, he was beautiful. And Arthur was such a mess. He was wearing sweats and an old sweater, his hair in loose curls tucked behind his ears. He was sure he smelled terrible, having to wash only with a rag and soap rather than being able to bathe.

    The only redemption was that as soon as he was inside the house, door shut behind him, whatever Eames was going to say died on his lips. He was equally quiet, and for a moment, they just took each other in. It had been a long time since the dinner. They’d departed without saying goodbye.

    It was different from all the times Arthur had stopped over. That seemed more business. More like making sure Eames still had all his parts and they were all functioning. Now, it was slower. Softer, somehow.

    “Hello.”

    Eames cleared his throat and shucked off his jacket. “Hello there, love. How’s the vacay treating you?”

    “Nothing to complain about. Well, the wifi is pretty shit, but that’s about it.”

    Eames smiled, but it wasn’t his usual toothy grin, mischievous and sly. It was a lifted corned, closed lipped and unfamiliar. Something slighter. Arthur’s chest flushed, suddenly feeling a bit self-conscious.

    “You eaten?” he asked. Arthur shook his head. He’d had an orange for breakfast, but that was at 7:40 in the morning, and now it was late in the afternoon. “Well, I picked up some things from the store. Gonna make a sub if you fancy one. Doubted you’d have anything here besides boiled cabbage and milk, no offense.”

    “I-okay.” He wasn’t sure what to say. Eames had brought food? He wasn’t wrong, though. Arthur hadn’t gotten around to fully stocking his fridge.

    Eames nodded, disappearing outside for a moment and coming back with several overflowing bags of food. “They really sell you on the reusable bags,” he commented, balancing a jug of orange juice in the crook of his arm and shutting the door with his foot. “Save the environment and all that.”

    Arthur hummed in agreement, amused at the sight. Eames disappeared to the connected kitchen. Arthur tried to get back into his book, but the occasional mutter and rustling of bags and clinking of glass deemed too much of a distraction, and his leg was starting to bother him again. He hated taking the painkillers though. They messed with his head and time passed either too quickly or too slowly. Taking them while Eames was here was out of the question. He was confused and dumb and the was not about to embarrass himself like that. He could deal with the pain fine.

    Eventually, Eames came out with 2 plates. Arthur slowly pushed himself out of the chair.

    “No need, darling.”

    Arthur waved him off, feeling like a much older man. “I like eating outside. And I need to stretch my leg out anyway.”

    “Outside? It’s freezing out there though.”

    Arthur shrugged. “I like it.” He reached for his crutches and lead the way to the porch out back. It was just a small wooden deck with a table and a couple chairs. It had a bird feeder though, and he liked watching the birds and the squirrels and soaking up the sunlight.

    “Oh, I get it. This is one of those near-death-experience things. A new-found appreciation for nature? Enjoy the little things. Smell the roses, yeah?”

    He leaned over, setting his crutches on the ground and then taking a seat. Eames sat down with him and presented a melt: asiago bread with pepper jack cheese and turkey topped with lettuce, tomato, and salt and pepper. Arthur sighed as he bit in. God, he was hungry. He chewed for a while before answering. “I’ve always liked nature. And I’ve had enough near-death experiences from working with you. If I were gonna make a huge life change, I would just stop hanging around you, love,” he added as an afterthought.

    “It’s hardly anything I do. Seems like your own fault. You’re a real adrenaline junkie, Arthur, and it’s becoming a problem.”

    Arthur smiled and hid it behind another bite of his sandwich. He was sure Eames saw, but he had to keep up appearance after all.

    They ate in relative quiet. That was another thing that surprised Arthur: Eames’ tolerance for silence. He always struck Arthur as one of those people who always wanted a distraction. Uncomfortable with long stretches of no talking and left to their own thoughts. Needing to fill the empty space with something. And Arthur was quite the opposite: terribly terrible with small talk, and when put pressure on, could never think of anything interesting to say at all. Just one of those people who thought too much. Drove his old girlfriends insane. Eames never seemed to mind that much, though. There was a natural peace that settled over them. Or maybe that was just Arthur. He was never sure what Eames was thinking.

    He was bad at reading people to begin with, and Eames had a bit of a knack for faking.

    Arthur finished first, but they were content with sitting in the cold sun. “What have you been up to? Haven’t heard much.”

    “That can’t be true. Arthur and his mysterious web of contacts not hearing what I’ve been up to?”

    “Just because  I can doesn’t mean I should, Eames.”

    “Of course. Forgot about your stellar moral compass.”

    “Always leads me right.”

    Eames let out a long sigh and sat back, and Arthur shifted in his seat. Something about this was so domestic. Eames making him lunch and relaxing on the deck afterward. As if they were old and married, their kids long gone with their own families and enjoying the last years of their lives. As if they were friends. As if they weren’t them. Arthur wasn’t Arthur and his paranoia and reluctance to let people in, and Eames wasn’t Eames and his pretending and charming all for his own entertainment, tossing around people’s emotions however he pleased.

    It made Arthur uneasy. He massaged his hip, his legs starting to grow stiff from the cold even through wool pants.

    “I’ve been busy. Did a couple of jobs. Had to leave the country while I sorted out a slight disagreement with a client. Ended up with a vacation to the beach and a one less person trying to kill me. People skills, Arthur. Gets you far.”

    “Mexico.”   

    Eames smiled. “Yeah, Mexico. Resort style, though.”

    “Saw that bit.”

    “What can I say? The women, they love me.”

    “And Dom? Have you heard from him?”

    “You would know more than me. The man’s been quiet. Probably for his own safety. I’m impressed though. He said he wanted to get out of the business, and he actually did it. No dabbling here and there. No inquiries.”

    Arthur hummed, thinking about Dom, and Mal when he first met them. “Don’t know how much he wanted to be in the business in the first place.” It fell into his lap, and he was an adventurous spirit. How could he not explore the world of dreams? When everything went South, though, it was less of an exploration and more of a mad search for what he’d lost. “He’d been in a real dark place. Glad he’s gotten out.”

    “Have you tried to contact him at all?”

    “No.” Arthur winced and his leg flared in pain before ebbing away. “I saw him, though, when I was on whatever Yusuf knocked me out with in that whole nightmare situation. Think I heard him and Mal talking. When I opened my eyes, though, it was just him. He….I don’t know. It was only for a couple seconds.” Which reminded him. “Thank you, by the way. Never got to thank you properly. For taking me in that night.”

    Eames nodded, looking out over the fields of brown grass, dead from the winter. Farmhouses scattered the hills. Arthur looked at Eames. Strong jaw, pale blue eyes framed by pale lashes, skin tan and ever so lightly freckled from the sun. “All in a day’s work, eh?” He turned, looking back at Arthur and winked, but there was only a slight curve to the corned or his lips before it dropped entirely.

    Arthur’s mind froze, as it often does in moments like this with Eames. The tension was palpable. It was only for a second, though, before another hot bolt of pain shot through his thigh making the wounded muscles contract. His eyes squeezed shut automatically and the air left his lungs. “Maybe we could move back inside,” he suggested casually, once his jaw relaxed enough to speak normally again.

    “Brilliant. Eating outside was a shite idea anyway.” Arthur chuckled and grabbed his crutches before standing up. Eames grabbed both their dishes and held the door for him on their way inside.

    Eames stayed for dinner. They’d made easy conversation until it settled into something quieter. Arthur had asked Eames to grab his laptop, and he’d done some work while Eames started on the book that Arthur was reading. Some dark historical fiction. Very on brand for him. Eames didn’t comment, but he blew a small puff of air out of his nose whenever he got to something he found humorous.

    He wasn’t sure how long Eames was planning on staying, or how long Arthur wanted him to stay. But he couldn’t deny that he was desperately craving the company. He loved to be the lone wolf, the hermit, the snarky moody one who didn’t need compassion, only point him in a direction and he would do exactly what you needed him to do. It was safer that way. Not many people were dying to be around Arthur, and Arthur wasn’t dying to be around them. But that didn’t mean he didn’t love to do. He was constantly moving, much like his mother in that way. He was always working, always making plans. Before he’s even done with one job, he has two others lined up and several contacts to call. He has dinners to attend and a smile to put on.

    Now he was stuck in a safe house for who knows long. He could work from home, and he could drive to his small apartment on the West Coast in Northern Cali, but that would be when he was able to move around more than 20 minutes at a time without his meds or needing to take a break, and who knew how long that was going to be.

He wasn’t 20 anymore. His body, although still young, was just not as young. He couldn’t just push through the pain of a broken bone as easily, and he couldn’t spring back from a gunshot with 3 drinks and a good night’s rest.  So he’d need another week here at least. Him, the snow, and his laptop. And a dark historical novel or 4.

    And maybe Eames. But that didn’t seem very clear to him yet. He doubted it was very clear to Eames either. There was no precedent for this.

    Arthur was always business. But then again, he’d never had to drive out two and a half hours from civilization just to check up on the man. And then the last place he’d mention staying was fucking Mexico. Did he fly all the day up here from fucking Mexico and drive two hours just to spend the afternoon heckling Arthur and shitting on his choice of literature with his pretentious snorts?

“Darling, I’m really going to need you to stop that.”

Arthur glanced up from his work which he hadn’t been paying attention to anyway. “Stop what?”   

“You keep….shifting.”

    “Shifting?”

    “Yeah. And making those little sounds. It’s awfully distracting. And every once and awhile, you make this face.” He drew all his features to the middle of his face. His eyebrows furrowed and eyes narrowed, mouth becoming small and pinched.

    Arthur rolled his eyes, stealing his hand that was kneading his upper thigh. “I was shot, Eames. Don’t know if you noticed. But my bad. Sorry to disturb your reading.”

    Eames closed the book, keeping a finger wedging in between the pages as a placeholder. He cocked his head slightly. “Don’t you have….you know. A prescription? For your pain?”

    Arthur shrugged and faked casual. “I don’t really like taking them.”

    “Really? Because I know a whole lot of people who say they are pretty fun.” He grinned, and Arthur couldn’t match it with one of his own. “You’re doing work on vacation when you could be getting high as fuck in fucking Maine, Arthur. Maine.”

    He scratched his forehead. “Yeah, well, after the army, I got high in a lot of different places. A lot of times. So, believe it or not, but being in Maine isn’t really about to persuade me.”

    “Oh.”

    “Sorry. Not sure why I-” He flashed a smile but could only hold it for a minute. He looked at the white stone fireplace across from him. “They give me weird fucking dreams anyway.”

    “I, uh, didn’t know that.” Eames' face was carefully neutral. “When did you leave?”

    “When I was 24. Did a little bit of college, but my father already pulled high rank. He got me into a real good position when I was 19, and from there I just kept advancing. Got to go to some pretty cool places and do some pretty cool shit. But after a while, it just felt….I don’t know. The world was becoming less real to me. People weren’t really people anymore. Going to Asia and Africa was less exciting. I felt 70 years old by the time I turned 24.”

    Eames hummed. “So you got out.”

    “Yeah. Dad wasn’t too happy.” Arthur glanced up at Eames and frowned. “But look at me, babbling on about myself.”

    Eames smiled. “A solid half-minute of backstory? You’re right, Arthur, how rude.”

    “I guess it’s an army thing. We never really learned manners.”

    “Or a criminal thing. I haven’t been known for my stellar table etiquette either.” Arthur bit his lip, containing a smile. He refused the urge to duck his head and loom away, acting like a middle school girl. Eames himself looked a bit flushed. He rubbed the back of his neck and settled deeper into the cushions. It struck Arthur for the hundredth time how little time he’d ever spent with Eames outside of work. And god, he was enjoying it.

    “Well, if it makes you feel a little better, the two times I’ve eaten with you, you weren’t a total barbarian.”

    Eames smiling and drummed his fingers along the arm of the couch. “I was never in the army despite my military-like persona. My sister went in, actually. We were pretty poor growing up, so uni was never an option. She took one route, and I took the other, infinity more fun route.”

    “Shoplifting, mugging, and breaking and entering?”

    “Actually, I never mugged. I had small jobs to pay the rent, did a little dealing on the side, and made some friends who would ultimately lead me here. It was stressful, but god it was good. Living right in London in the worst parts of town, seeing all different types of people. Greatest city on Earth, London, and I’d never move there again.”

    “Why not?”   

    Eames absentmindedly rubbed the scruff on his jaw. “Too busy. To dangerous. Too expensive. And I’ve already had my share of adventures there. Good times, but not a way I’d want to live now.”

    “So you’ve grown old and boring?”

    Eames laughed, tilting his head back ever so slightly to reveal the tan arch of his throat, curving beautifully until it met his collarbones which peaked out of the loose button down he wore. When Arthur’s eyes flicked back up to his face, he met blue eyes. Heat races down his spine without warning, and he had to look away.

    “Yes, Arthur, I’m old and boring. But I don’t think you can be talking because before I showed up, all you were doing was reading this tragically boring book in the middle of nowhere.”

    Arthur shrugged, meeting his eyes again, defiant. “I’m a bit compromised at the moment. Excuse me for not choosing New York for my safe house while I recover from my gunshot wound.”

    Eames sighed like it was a huge inconvenience to him, slinking down even more into the couch so that it was practically eating him. He threw his head back again, this time resting it on the back and looking up at the ceiling. “It’s alright, I suppose.”

    He said something else, but it was lost on Arthur when he realized that the man was doing this on purpose. He’d caught Arthur checking him out, and now he was lounged on Arthur’s sofa looking like he was posing for Calvin Klein. His knees were slightly spread, his arms thrown out to show off tanned, tone skin. And his neck in perfect view, this time his shirt stretching across his broad chest.

    The knowledge that Arthur was supposed to be looking didn’t sway him enough not to look. And when Eames, after an eternity, brought his head back up, hair ruffled and eyes curious, Arthur still couldn’t look away. It was like seeing the man for the first time all over again. Cocky, handsome and strong.

    It took a spear of pain shooting through his head to break him away. He groaned and gripped his thigh.

    “Christ, Arthur.” Eames' voice was lower, and Arthur knew he was not alone in the heat stirring slowly in his belly. The thought just made Arthur flush.

    “I’m fine.” He took a steadying breath straightening out slightly before another wave of pain took over. He held back a strangled whimper.

    “God, I can really tell.” A slight pause. “I can check it if you want?”

    “It’s not infected. And I can change my own bandages, Eames. I’ve been doing it since I was a teen.”

    “Yeah, I know, I know. I just-well, yeah.” Eames flashed one of those smiles that meant he was frustrated. Arthur shifted in his chair, unsure of what he did. Unsure of what to say next. “Just offering, darling.”

    “Right. Thank you.” And just like that, the mood had changed. He wasn’t sure why this happened with Eames. One second he was chatting with him about what Sito was up to these days, the political state of France, the logistics of a job, and the next moment he was strangled with tension. He found himself sitting up straighter, his language formal. On edge.

    He wondered if Eames even noticed, but it was impossible to tell as the other man reopened his book and started reading again.

    Arthur went back to work.

    He tried to stop moving so much, but his leg was killing him. Logically, he knew he should just take the painkillers. He’d been clean for so long now, he had no real fear of relapsing. Not to mention he’d been under a hundred sedatives and different compounds thanks to Yusuf. But taking them while Eames was there. There was something about it, the state of vulnerability. It was too much.

    But he didn’t want the man to leave. Even now, after Arthur had snapped at him, unknowingly poked at a sore spot that he didn’t know Eames had. He liked the company. He liked Eames.

    But 20 minutes went by in silence and then Eames was setting the book down, closed and without saving his place. “It’s getting late. I should probably head out. Let you continue doing whatever the hell you were doing before I got here. I can only assume it was something magical.” He gave a closed lip smile.

    Arthur worked his jaw, trying to think of a witty way to ask him to stay. To ask him without really asking him. Without revealing his hand. Without all the implications that came with asking a man to stay the night, even if they were all true.

    Arthur was not a coward. But he did have his cowardly moments.

    Dom taught him that being brave didn’t mean being good at fighting. It meant doing something that you were truly afraid to do. Arthur had always been good at fighting, and he was only truly scared of a few things, and none such concrete as death or heights.

    His fear was blue eyes and stubble and standing up, wiping his hands on his trousers. Arthur desperately didn’t want this to be one of his cowardly moments.

    “Where are you off to then?”

    “Booked a hotel for the night.” Arthur nodded. Then nodded again.

    “Long way back to New York.” It was idiotic and Arthur watched Eames, waiting for the sarcastic reply. His left eyebrow twitched, but that was it.

    “Yeah.”

    Arthur cleared his throat. “I have a spare room.”

    Eames raised an eyebrow. A challenge.

    “Doesn’t make much sense for you to drive all the way there tonight. Logistically speaking. And for safety reasons. Just because the roads here aren’t great.”

    “You’re asking me to stay, then?” The damn idiot was smiling. Smirking, in that overconfident way that made Arthur want to….

    “Sure, if you want to.”

    Eames hummed. “You must be pretty bored up here.”

    Arthur tapped his finger on his knee. “There’s only so much to do in Maine.”

    “You’re not doing a great job on selling me here.” He sat down anyway, though this time just on the edge, leaning forward. Just out of Arthur’s space. It was another tease. He cocked his head slightly, and with his longer hair, blonder from the sun, he looked like a puppy. “I suppose you could convince me though,” he murmured, his voice dropping into a whisper at the end.

    Arthur went breathless. He gaze was pulled towards soft lips just for a second before skimming over a sharp nose and back to blue eyes, watching him closely. Always watching, despite his bullish attitude. Perhaps that was why Arthur was so attracted to him: There was something irresistible about the mystery of Eames. How much was just a show and how well Arthur actually knew him. He was just as in control as Arthur, even if no one knew it.

    Eames’ eyes crinkled. All Arthur had to do was lean in. That’s it. He took a shallow breath, heat coiling in his stomach. Fuck, he wanted Eames. But he was different than anyone else Arthur had had before. Impossibly different, though he was unsure exactly how. He let out his breath. It came out shaky, and he watched as Eames pale eyes darkened, pupils blown wide until there was a thin ring of color around the darkness.

    Arthur moved in. He didn’t go slow on purpose. In fact, it seemed like a miracle that he was moving at all. His breath caught as Eames’ eyelids dropped, the other man taking in his lips before closing entirely. He brushed against Eames’ nose with his own and the blonde shuttered. Arthur’s eyes slipped closed.

    Eames’ lips were soft and dry and yielded beautifully to Arthur. The kiss was as chaste as they come: A warm press of the lips, lingering several seconds before Arthur lost nerve and pulled away.

    He was breathing too hard, but then again, so was Eames. His skin was flushed all the way to the tips of his ears. Arthur had never seen Eames like this. His eyes fluttered open and then met Arthur’s. The contact was almost physical, and he couldn’t pull away.

    “That was beautiful, pet.” His words were melted and slow like caramel. “Can I kiss you, now?”

    Arthur nodded, and then Eames was coming in, cupping the back on his neck with one hand and bracing himself on the armchair with the other. This time, their lips met, and there was movement. Eames' thumb stroked over Arthur’s cheek and Arthur reached up, threading his fingers through long hair. Eames swiped his tongue over Arthur’s bottom lip and pulled a small gasp from him. Arthur opens his own mouth, tasting Eames cautiously, and when their tongues meet, Eames lets out a small sigh.

    Then he is pushing Arthur back and parting his legs, careful with the injured one. Arthur’s cock twitched in his pants as he watched Eames kneel between his legs. Then they are kissing again, and it was wet and hard and both of them were breathing too hard just a simple make out session.

    Eames pulled away only to start nipping along Arthur’s jawline. He sucked small spots on his neck, rubbing his large hands over Arthur’s thighs, tightening his pants around his hardness, creating teasing friction. Combined wtih Eames’ breath hot and heavy in his ear and Arthur couldn’t help the small noise that escaped him.

    Eames exhaled hard, pausing for a moment before going after Arthur’s lips again. He worked Arthur’s belt and pants buttons easily before pulling his cock out, giving it a few experimental stokes.

    Arthur couldn’t help but thrust up to meet him before Eames used his other hand to grab his hip, stilling him. Arthur groaned into the kiss. His hand gripped him loosely, skimming rather than gripping, and it had Arthur squirming for more. His hand was calloused and a bit rough, but he didn’t mind the friction.

    “Eames, please.”

    Eames cursed, ducking his head to lick his collarbone but not doing much more with his hand. “God, you’re beautiful Arthur.”

    He didn’t give much time for Arthur to reflect on this before he was lapping at the head, licking the precome that had made a damp spot in Arthur’s boxers. Arthur tried to keep his eyes open to watch, but when Eames licked a hot stripe up the bottom side of his dick, he couldn’t quite keep his eyelids from slipping shut. He pushed his fingers into Eames’ har, not holding or controlling the pace, but simply to feel.

    Eames was fast and sloppy, not caring about the slurping sounds he made as he pumped his head up and down. Pleasure coursed through Arthur with every heartbeat, and he found himself struggling not to push his hips up. He gasped as Eames pulled off only to suck at the tender stop below the head. His thighs tightened and there was a stab of pain from his leg.

    He let out a small curse, the flare so unexpected in the heat of the moment. “Wait,” he choked out, and Eames pulled off him with a wicked smirk. “You alright love?”

    “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.” He tried to catch his breath, and Eames looked down to his hand clutching his thigh.

    “We can stop if you want? If it’s too-”

    “God, no.”

    Eames laughed. “Well then, would it be more comfortable on the bed?” He eyed the man and all he got in return were wide innocent baby blues blinking owlishly.

    “Maybe, yeah.” After all, Arthur was only human.

    Eames made no sly comment, and Arthur managed to push himself off the chair and hobble to the bedroom, one arm slung across broad shoulders. Once they got to Arthur room, he sat down on the edge of the bed and threw his legs out, slowly lying down in the middle, feeling like a hospital patient and much less sexy than he’d been feeling 5 minutes ago.

But then Eames was crawling over him, hovering for a second to rip off that god awful shirt, exposing dense, thick muscles. He had the body of a boxer. Though slightly shorter than Arthur, he made up for it with the spanse of his shoulders and wide hips. Arthur pressed his lips together, and whatever arousal that had left him came rushing back.

    Eames sat high on his hips, supporting himself mostly with his thighs so as not to put too much pressure on Arthur. He looked down at him and let out a shaky breath, and Arthur sat up just long enough to pull off his sweater. He burned under Eames’ eyes. “You just gonna stare all day?” he taunted, despite his voice being hoarse and low.

Eames bit his lip and chose to respond by placing his hands on Arthur’s bare ribs, slowly sliding up to feel his chest, then leaning down to taste his nipple. Arthur sighed in content. With the slower pace, he felt more sensitive, trying not to make small noises as Eames nipped the bud and planted wet, open mouth kissed across his pecs.

He wished his leg was better so he could flip Eames on his back and take him apart just like he was doing to Arthur.

Eames brought his mouth back up to Arthur’s neck, sucking small love spots, but when he reached right below his ear, he had Arthur moaning out a small breath sound, tilting his head to expose his neck for better access. He twisted his hand in Eames' hair and the other man let out a low growl himself.

“I’m tryin to take my time, but gods, Arthur, you’re making it difficult.”

Arthur took a chance and reached down, cupping Eames’ hardness through his trousers, and he was rewarded with a small thrust and a high, keening sound. A whine, he realized with no little satisfaction. He squeezed slightly, and Eames pressed back. He stopped marking up Arthur’s neck, unable to concentrate on anything else besides Arthur’s hand around him. “Pants off.”

Eames wasted no time, hopping off Arthur to shove his trousers and boxers down in one go. He was as eager as a teenager, but Arthur was in no better condition, lifting his hips off the bed so that he could push his own off as well. He paused when he caught sight of Eames, though. Thick muscle rope around his thighs and a long cock that jutted out of trimmed pubic hair, dark compared to the strands on his head. It was hard and wet and Arthur’s mouth went dry at the sight of it. “Need some help?”

Arthur nodded and Eames climbed back on the bed, slowly pulling off Arthur’s clothes. He worked the sweats over the bandages on his leg and tossed them to the side. The bandages were in good condition, no signs of liquid leaking through or any bleeding, but Eames leaned down to inspect them anyway.

“They’re fine,” Arthur managed before Eames took his breath away by kissing the edge of the wrapping. He worked his mouth up Arthur’s inner thigh, and Arthur couldn’t help but squirm on the bed, fisting the sheets so he wouldn’t reach down and take his own dick in his hand. Eames pushed Arthur’s other leg aside, making room for his shoulders to lean in closer, experimental nudging his nose near Arthur’s balls. The memory of Eames’ mouth, hot and wet, made a small drop of precum roll down the tip of his dick. Eames caught sight of it and caught it with the tip of his tongue, hardly touching him but causing Arthur to exhale sharply.

“What do you want, darling?” he murmured, mouthing at the crease op his hip and thigh. Arthur tangled his hands in Eames' hair, pulling him back up.

“I want to touch you,” he admitted, reaching for Eames’ cock, and the man didn’t deny him. He was hard and hot in Arthur’s hand. He used the pad of his thumb to trace the edge of the head, and Eames buried his head in the crook of his neck, breathing heavily. He was too dry to jerk him properly, so he spit in his hand and then reached down again, this time stroking, and Eames shuttered above him, muscles straining in his shoulders and back to keep him above Arthur.    “I like you like this,” Arthur murmured in Eames’ ear, feeling safer when Eames’ couldn’t see him.

“Fuck, Arthur,” was all Eames could manage, trying to hold back but still giving small, shallow thrusts into Arthur’s hand. Precum rolled out of his dick, slicking it up, and Arthur was able to pick up the pace, pulling small sounds from lips parted against his neck. “Fuck, Arthur, I gonna cum if you don’t stop.”

He turned his head, placing an open-mouthed kiss on Eames’ neck, sloppy from the movement and the odd angle. “Come on then, baby.”

He didn’t normally use pet names, but it seemed to work magic on Eames. His muscles tensed, hips losing their rhythm but still snapping up sharply. A long, choked off moan was pressed into Arthur's hot skin, a he felt the wetness coat his hand, working Eames’ through the tide.

When it was over, Eames flopped down to the side of him, his thigh pressing against Arthur’s cock and one arm slung across his chest. He normally would’ve cringed at the wetness of Eames' cum, but he was so far gone, it only worked him up more. “Eames,” he begged softly, only able to look at him and make tiny, unconscious circles with his hips.

Two blue eyes opened, so dark they looked black. “I’ve got you, love.”

His mouth was everywhere, teasing Arthur nipples till he begging him to move down, nipping at his hips and inner thighs, and finally around him, sucking him off with hollowed cheeks and a vigorous rhythm.

    Arthur didn’t last long, giving out a broken cry and back arching off the bed, Eames swallowing everything. Arthur looked down, cupping his cheek for a moment and swiping his thumb over swollen lips, completely blissed out.

Eames, ever the gentleman, wiped Arthur down with his own sheets before tossing them to the ground and snuggling up afterward, pulling up the covers “Those were expensive,” Arthur complained, no real heat behind the words.

Eames hummed.”Good thing you have an expensive washer to clean them up.”

Arthur turned into the man, his eyes closed, not quite able to bear the sight of Eames. He said nothing to that. He was right, after all.

****

Arthur couldn’t remember falling asleep. He could only remember Eames, one arm slung across his shoulders, head tucked into his neck. He would have never pegged Eames for a snuggler, having been subjugated to years of overhearing conquest stories of beautiful redheads and fit foreign models, he just assumed he was the “shag and dash” type, already zipping up his pants by the time his partner realized what was happening.

It felt good though. He soaked up Eames’ heat, lazily tracing shapes on the hand draped over him.

Arthur didn’t speak though, already knowing the dangers of pillow talk. Eames didn’t say anything either, and Arthur drifted off into sleep.

And when he woke up, Eames was gone, his bed was cold, and Arthur didn’t even have a chance to say goodbye.

He didn’t think, even for a second, that maybe Eames was in the bathroom or making coffee or cooking up a nice, warm breakfast. He knew from the moment his hand drifted over to the other side of the sheets that Eames was long gone, stale sheets holding no leftover warmth.

He should’ve felt angry at himself. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Instead, he felt the absence like a dull ache in his chest, making his legs numb and his palms sweaty. He fisted the covers and stayed in his bed, and, just for a couple minutes, allowed himself to indulge in self-pity.

Indulge in a low groan, staring at the ceiling and mourning the loss of something that he thought was more complex, more real.

But then, what was he expecting? For Eames, the pretender, to confess his love? To wake him up with coffee and eggs and massage his leg for him?

“Fuck!” He pounded the pillow, sadness turning into something nastier, and hated Eames for doing this. He had no right. He knew that Arthur wasn’t like him. He knew, and he still coaxed Arthur to ask him to stay, to reveal his weakness and he had the nerve to spit it right back in his face. To laugh at his vulnerability and toss their carefully crafted relationship, so close to real friendship, into the trash.

So fuck Eames for running, and fuck himself for falling for a pretty face and charming banter, because he prided himself on being better than that, and it fucking hurt to be proven wrong. Proven weak.

He got out of his bed, leg sore, chest hollow, and made his way to the shower, furious that his crutches were back in the other room. A warm shower made him feel a little bit better, but by the time he’d made his tea, he’d worked himself back into a state of fury.

This, he decided, would be much more unfortunate for Eames. Arthur wasn’t someone to be played with, and he’d get the message.

He didn’t make good on the promise. He’d stayed out of Eames’ way, not bothering to check on him or inquire what he was up to. Figured it would be better to not make an enemy out of someone just because they weren’t friends anymore. Eames could stay in the cold, uninterested middle ground. The furthest away he could get him.

On a job with Yusuf, the man let slip that Eames had been in a tough scuffle with a couple people and he’d been hospitalized for a couple days. Arthur nodded casually and expressed his condolences, not bothering to look up from his work.

He didn’t make the flight to Mombasa, and even though he tried to convince himself that he didn’t care, he hoped that Eames felt the loss.

7 months later he received a call from Ariadne asking him if wanted to work a job with her, a young Chinese woman, and Eames. He’d refused and didn’t bother coming up with an excuse.

“Listen, Arthur, we really need you. This job is interesting, the most interesting since the inception job. We need you, and you’d love it. I can’t tell you much, but it involved some really crazy government officials and a new serum. Arthur, listen, you have to-”

“Ariadne. I’m not interested.”

“Arthur, I don’t think you-”

“I’m sorry, Ari. I just can’t make it.”

“Oh. I-okay. Yeah, no that’s fine.” He chewed his lip, feeling guilty. She’d had a soft spot for him since her first day in the dreamscape, and he viewed her much like a little sister. She didn’t mind his odd mannerisms and she was a pleasure to work with.

They ended the call with Arthur promising to come visit her when she was done and hoping it all worked out. A sour taste was left in his mouth, knowing that Eames still had power over him, but he’d rather stay away, even if it meant obviously avoiding the man. If not for his own heart, then for the safety of Eames. He wasn’t sure if he’d be able to resist shooting him if things started to go wrong in any way.

But even when his leg was completely healed, he wasn't taking jobs. It wasn’t like he really needed the money, and the world of dreams wasn’t exciting him as much as it used to. Maybe Eames had something to do with that, or maybe he was just getting older. He wasn’t as impressed with doing petty jobs for rich people. There was no substance to it.

So he stayed away from Eames and he stayed away from offered jobs.

 

“He was asking about you, you know.”

“Oh really?”

“Yeah. And I know you’re dying to know what he said. I just want to hear you ask.”

“Alright, Dom,” Arthur sighed into his tea, “what did he say?”

“He wanted to know if you were alright. If I had spoken to you and if I knew where you were. Apparently, you haven’t taken very many jobs in the past year.”

“Any jobs.”

“So I told him I had just as much of an idea as he did, and to let me know if he found anything. But I also told him that you were probably fine and off brooding somewhere like an edgy teenager. What’s the word they use? Angst.”

“Right. Well, thanks for that.”

“Would you like to tell me why he was looking for you? And why you are making yourself scarce?”

“Not really.”

“Arthur.” It was the same old voice that he’d been using for years to get him to crack. The same one that Mal had used when Arthur was in a terrible mood and wanted to be alone with his work and his anger instead of playing with the kids.

“What?” Arthur snapped back, hating the way his hair rose on the back of his neck.

“What happened between you two?”

“Nothing. Absolutely nothing.” It wasn’t a lie. “And the absence of anything is the problem.”

Dom studied him, and Arthur watched out of the corner of his eye. He would get it eventually. Arthur sure as hell wasn’t going to say it.

“Why do you always have to speak in fucking riddles? It’s annoying.”

Arthur took a bite of his toast. It was burnt. The handiwork of James, most likely. Philipa never burnt his toast. “All the more reason to do it.”

Dom was quiet for another moment. “Did something….happen?”

“Yes, actually. Something did happen. Quite an astute observation.”

“You….you slept with him.” When Arthur made no reply, Dom’s voice went breathless. “You like him! You have a crush on him!”

“It’s not a fucking crush, Dom. I’m not 13.”

“So it’s more than a crush?”

Arthur massaged his forehead. “For fuck's sake.”

“He misses you.”

“Christ.”

 

Arthur glared at Eames, unimpressed. “You aren’t the delivery boy.”

“Actually, I am. I’m in their system and everything.” He tipped his hat. “Thought it would be a nice touch.” A little over a year had passed since he’d seen Eames. He thought that when he next saw him, he’d feel differently. That he’d be a changed man, and that Eames would hopefully be fat or ugly or something. Instead, it seemed like neither of them had changed at all. Eames’s hair was darker now, but he still had those broad shoulders and strong features. He was wearing a Pizza Hut uniform and held Arthur's order in his arms.

And Arthur’s chest still froze at the sight of him.

A little over a year had passed, and Eames decided that it was a good idea to infiltrate a pizza shop and take Arthur’s pizza to him. Because he thought it would be a nice touch.

Arthur nodded slowly, looking him up and down. “It is.” He took the pizza and stuck out some cash. “This includes tip. Thanks.”

“Um, actually, I was hoping I could come in,” he said sheepishly, pushing his foot forward to stop the door from closing. Arthur resisted the urge to slam it closed anyway.

“Well, maybe you should’ve called in advance like a normal person. I’m busy.” The thought of Eames coming inside his small apartment was suffocating. He came from nowhere and now he wants to talk to Arthur? Now he strolls by because he was in the neighborhood? Because their little spat was inconveniencing him?

“Didn’t have your number.”

Arthur sneered and didn’t bother commenting that knowing where he lived was far more personal than knowing his cell. “This little act isn’t cute anymore, Eames. It’s just rude and annoying. I’m busy right now. If you wanted to talk, you’ve had other chances.”

Eames winced but didn’t move his foot. “Please, Arthur. I know. I just….”

Arthur kept his face passive. He didn’t look away. The helpless soft eyes had worked on him before, and he’d paid for it every time. “Come by tomorrow. You get 15 minutes.”

“You’ll be gone by the time I get a block away.”

Arthur shrugged. “Guess you’ll have to see.”

“Please, Arthur. I just want to talk. Please.”

Arthur gritted his teeth and glanced away from sad, imploring eyes. Turn him down one more time, and it would be the end of it. Eames would go, and Arthur would leave the state, maybe the country, and they could go on their separate ways. But eventually, they would have to resolve their issues. They’d known each other for too long. Logically, he was aware of that. He should just get it over with. Forgive Eames enough so they could work together again and just keep him at arms distance. Not respond so actively to his jibes and restain his own criticism that drives Eames so insane.

So what was he so afraid of?

“Alright.” He stepped aside and let Eames in. He looked ridiculous in his red and black uniform, and yet somehow it tickled a small part in Arthur’s brain. He shook his head slightly and closed the door behind him. He put the pizza on his table, unopened and crossed his arms. Both of them remained standing.  “Start talking then.”

Eames cracked his knuckles with his thumb, a small nervous habit that Arthur had picked up on a while ago. He’d never mentioned it, and Eames never did it when he was in public. Only when he wasn’t paying attention, he allowed himself to slip. “Arthur, I-I’m sorry. I didn’t-” He cut off, sucking on his teeth, looking anywhere but him. He laughed, awkwardly, and again, Arthur got the sense of not-quite-Eames. “Had a whole spiel I was going to do.” He cleared his throat.

Arthur's throat tightened. It was the type of vulnerability that wasn’t exposed but instead ripped from your chest. It was when he was in Eames’ nightmare again, seeing young scared eyes and realizing that these softer parts of Eames weren’t for him to witness; He’d only managed to see them because of a mistake.

Watching Eames struggle with his apology was just another repercussion of a mistake. Eames was sorry he’d slept with him. He was sorry he’d hurt him. He was sorry that all of this had happened. But he didn’t want Arthur any more than he’d wanted him before.

“Just shut up, Eames,” Arthur sighed. He rubbed his temple. “You’re sorry. Okay. I forgive you.”

“No. No, that’s not-”

“So you aren’t sorry?”

“No-”

“Then you don’t want my forgiveness?”

“Arthur, stop. Stop it. I know what you’re trying to do.”

Arthur scoffed, heart, squeezing dangerously. “Oh, because I’m the one who plays mind games now?”

“Bloody hell, Arthur, I’m don’t play mind games with you, not now, not ever. It was never my intent to-christ. I’m not here to make excuses or to try and twist the situation or your image of me. I’m not here to deceive you. I’m just asking for another chance. To try my fucking hardest to make things right.” His face was bright red, a blush he didn’t get very often.

Arthur nodded slowly. To make things right. Right. “Do you regret sleeping with me?” He didn’t have to ask. He couldn’t help it.

Eames blinked in surprise, eyebrows furrowing slightly. His face didn’t give much away besides that. He hesitated for a second before letting out a heavy sigh. “How could I, Arthur?”

“Then why did you leave?”

He smiled ruefully. “Not sure you’re going to like the answer,” he said softly.

“Why don’t you let me decide for myself,” Arthur snapped, heart twisted and rung out.

“I panicked. You were my best friend, as pathetic as that sounds. It was like somehow, you’d changed. You weren’t just Arthur, you were different. And I panicked.”

Arthur flinched back, the confession hitting him like a blow to the stomach. He felt sick. “So by sleeping with you, I was made a whore? You got with me and decided you didn’t like me as much as you thought?” He should’ve been furious. Instead, the unjust of it all was blinding and nauseating. He was never very good handling rejection.

“No! No, that not- no. I never say the right things with you.” Arthur looked up to see Eames reaching out to touch him and holding himself back at the same time. “You became so much more. It was like all of a sudden, I could see all the possibility of you. And it was too much. You were too good and I’m such a-” The other man squeezed his eyes shut and Arthur should’ve looked away, but he couldn’t.

Everyone has cowardly moments. Somehow, he didn’t piece together that Eames might be part of that everyone, yet here he was, saying everything but not quite saying it. He should let Eames struggle. Leave him out to dry because panicking isn’t a good enough reason to wait over a year to apologize.

But obviously, he couldn’t. It might be his weakness for shaggy blonde hair and broad shoulders, or it might be his weakness for underlying kindness and a sharp wit. Whatever it was, Arthur damned it. Then he took Eames’ hand.

Eames’ fingers tightened but he didn’t look back up, and Arthur was struck with how many parts of Eames were real when Arthur thought he was faking it. This, though, wasn’t faked. There was no point. No walls. It was all laid out for Arthur to see, and he both wanted to press into Eames and breath in the sent of cigs and coffee and detergent or cover his eyes, embarrassed at the display of trust and weakness. He opted for tightening his hand around strong fingers.

“It’s not okay.”

Eames nodded tightly, staring to the ground, but not pulling away.

“You fucked up and you spat my trust back into my face, leaving me looking like an idiot.” Eames clenched his jaw and just sat there, looking like a kicked puppy. Arthur sighed. “With that being said, damn it, Eames, I missed you.” Arthur chuckled. “You had me avoiding you like we were kids at the playground again. And you should know, I don’t just run away from anyone. Christ, Eames, just look at me will you?”

Eames looked up from under his lashes, and Arthur did something he didn’t normally do: he made an impulse decision. He cupped the man’s jaw and leaned in, taking a moment to graze his lips, savor the catch of breath from soft lips before he pressed into him.

The kiss was exactly the same as when he first kissed him many months ago. Arthur’s eyes fell closed and he took a deep breath, waving his fingers into cropped hair before letting the breath go. Eames stayed rock still.

When he pulled back, Eames turned his head, hiding his face for a moment. Arthur stood dumbfounded as a bright red blush bloomed across fair skin, and for a second, that emotion was contagious, creeping up his throat and choking him up.

“You can’t just forgive me like that,” he muttered, sounding equally furious and miserable.

“Well, I can’t do anything else.”

Eames cursed and rolled his eyes, finally facing Arthur. “You could yell at me. Tell me to get out. Beat the shit out of me.”

“Is that what you want?”

“What I want is to not realize that the last however many months of depression have been completely pointless and that once again, I’ve proven myself to be a huge idiot.”

Arthur smiled. He was impossibly glad to see Eames, he realized, and god, they were both idiots. Arthur probably should do all those things. Instead, he’d kissed the man, and he was still a little bit warm from it. As for Eames, the blush still hadn’t faded. “Not sure what to say about that. Besides, I really have missed working with you. And fighting with you. And recusing you all the damn time.”

Finally, he got Eames to crack a smile. It was hesitant and unsure. But it was hopeful and relieved. “I didn’t mean to hurt you in any way. Or make you think that I was only in it for that one night. To be honest, Arthur, the amount I thought about you was scary. Borderline obsessive, even.”

Arthur hummed. “You’re doing a good job at selling yourself here.”

“It seemed like, once I finally might have had a chance to have you, the only thing I could do from there was to fuck it up.”

Arthur chuckled. “So you fucked it up.”

“Murphy’s rule. It was the only way to get it out of the way, really.”

“And from here, we will have only perfection.”

Eames searched his eyes. “From here, I’m yours. I’ll you’ll take me.”

“In marriage?” Arthur’s heart was slamming against his chest, and he wondered how well his small comebacks were distracting from the overwhelming rush of adrenaline that was coursing through his veins. Keep it cool, Arthur. If he was good at anything, it was downplaying his emotions.

But when it came to Eames, his head had always been a mess. And light blue eyes crinkling around the corners made him want to do all sorts of crazy things.

“Marriage is a social construct, Arthur, and I don’t buy into it. But how about this?”

Arthur was pulling him closer before they even connected. It was instantly hot and heavy, and all the things Arthur swore he would do and say when he finally spoke to Eames again flew out the window. It was only eager lips and a swipe of a tongue, asking for entrance. Eames was all consuming. He pressed his palms on Arthur’s lower back, pushing them together and sharing their heat.

The pizza went uneaten.


End file.
